


Dust to Dust

by Vyranai



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bucky is a treasure hunter, Humor, Indiana Jones inspired, M/M, Oneshot, Pre-Relationship, Steve is a history professor, improper use of bear traps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 08:54:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13971612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vyranai/pseuds/Vyranai
Summary: Steve is a history professor/archaeologist and Bucky is a prolific treasure hunter who goes by the name of the Winter Soldier. Steve is sick of going through all these punishing trials in the ass-end of nowhere only to end up empty-handed when this mysterious rogue catches him off-guard every time.Then they meet.





	Dust to Dust

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, hey! More Stucky AU trash to add to the heap! I love Indiana Jones. I love Stucky. Let's throw the both together haphazardly while hyper on coffee.

 The Winter Soldier worked by night, slipping through either his door or window with ease, no matter what precautions Steve put in place; a tripwire, a flare and even an air horn once in the back ends of Peru. But no, the man dodged his defences with ease, always leaving behind nothing more than intense frustration.

Steve was ready this time; the jewel was nestled safely within his coat, pressed almost painfully against his heart instead of stuffed into the bottom of his bag, ready for the taking. Sometimes he wondered if he had a tracker hidden about his person with how easily he was discovered and promptly robbed during the dead of night when exhaustion finally forced him to catch a few hours.

Perhaps it was a little over the top to place a bear trap at both the small hotel window and door, but it was for a good reason.

It was with a new sense of confidence that Steve left his empty satchel in his room and ventured downstairs towards the bar. Tomorrow was the meeting with the head of the Smithsonian, then Monday was back to work at the university. Back to normalcy where the only thing that hankered after his blood was students who believed that they deserved a higher score on their essay papers.

The hotel bar was nothing special; just a length of polished wood with a row of half-empty bottles set behind it and pumps selling kraft ales and beers. Steve took one of the vacated faded red velvet stools and ordered a beer, pressing his hand against his chest almost in reassurance that the ghost hadn’t bested him once more.

Groaning softly, Steve’s hand moved from his chest to his shoulder, rubbing at it for a long moment. It throbbed something terrible where he’d lost his footing and crashed headlong into a wall of solid rock. Quite frankly he still wasn’t sure how he’d managed to miss the gaping hole that opened up beneath his feet. It was like something had yanked him sharply out of the way, saving his neck. Maybe he had a guardian angel looking after his bacon after all.

“Thanks” Steve sighed as the beer was slid his way, drawing it closer and taking a long draught.

“You from around here?” the barman grunted, casting a look over the hunched over figure with the tatty brown coat and week old stubble.

Steve nodded. “History professor, actually.”

“Huh. Guess the whole look makes sense then.”

“The look?”

“Like ya spend way too much time cooped up with dusty old books and stuff.” He shuffled off without another word.

He had a point there, Steve admitted grudgingly. He’d stopped shaving with a blade ever since he’d managed to slice open his jaw instead, and the razors he took always went missing along with whatever artefact he’d discovered. It was simply easier to return to New York resembling a vagrant and shave back at his apartment.

Someone took the stool next to him, ordering a beer in an almost gruff voice. Steve raised an eyebrow; none of the other seats were taken, which meant that the move was deliberate. He turned in his seat to ask – politely – if the other person could move one down at least, but then Steve caught sight of the man next to him.

“Please could you move” turned into “Hey man” instead.

The man blinked, looking twice at Steve; his long oak-brown hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, accentuating his bright and attentive eyes. He was dressed in a battered leather bomber jacket, left hand shoved into the pocket while his right tipped the bottle of beer towards his lips. Judging by the man’s rough stubble, Steve was fairly certain that he wasn’t alone in shaving for a week. “Hey,” he nodded when he set the bottle down.

“Nice jacket” Steve complimented before he could stop himself.

“Thanks.” The man glanced down to the jacket briefly. “I call it my lucky jacket.”

“It always bring you luck?”

“Seems to have so far,” he chuckled, extending a hand. “I’m Bucky.”

Steve took it with a simple nod and a smile. “Steve. What brings you here, Bucky?”

“Business,” Bucky shrugged, twisting the bottle around to peer at the back label. “Heard you’re a history professor? You seem much too young. What history do you study? Wars?”

“Ancient civilizations. I specialized in Egyptology, but there haven’t been many chances to head to Egypt lately. Cairo is, uh, not on good terms with the university at present. Kinda my fault as well. Still-” Steve snorted, taking a sip of his drink, “never any shortage of students wanting to hear about how a red hot poker was shoved up a dead person’s nose and their brain ripped out.”

Bucky barked out a laugh, leaning back for a moment. “That was always my favourite part in school. That and when they stuff your organs into jars and if your heart is heavier than a feather, some crocodile-headed god would eat it and you’d be doomed forever.”

Steve’s interest in the man reached new heights. “You like Egyptian history?” he asked, more enthusiastically than he’d meant. He just couldn’t help it; discussions of Ancient Egypt always brought out the self-confessed geek in him.

“Like?” Bucky leaned in, a wide and tantalizing grin spreading across his face. Steve felt his heart miss a beat at how very handsome the man was. “I love Ancient Egypt. As a kid I always wanted to visit the pyramids in Giza, stare up at the Sphinx and look upon Tutankhamen’s golden mask. It seemed almost fictional, y’know? Like a dream.”

“I understand completely; it was the allure of the undiscovered tombs that drew me in as a child. My grandfather was around in Egypt when they found Tut and his tales always inspired me.”

“Sounds like you love your job.”

Steve nodded firmly. “I do. It’s my whole life.” He drained the bottle completely and set it down with a thud, letting out a low sigh of frustration; and if this Winter Soldier kept stealing his trinkets, he would soon lose his livelihood. And his number one love of delving into dusty tombs. Steve could not, _would not_ lose this. It would kill him to remain trapped behind a desk, day in and day out, gazing out of the window longingly.

Bucky was grinning again as he raised his bottle in Steve’s direction. “Feels like I’ve known you forever, Steve. What rock have ya been hiding beneath if it’s not Egypt?”

Steve just returned the grin, ordering another beer.

 

One more beer turned into another. Steve lost track around the fifth, he and Bucky now sequestered away in the corner of the room with their heads together and laughs filling the small bar. Every time his bottle was empty, Bucky would merely raise his hand and call the barkeep for a new one, despite Steve’s drunken protests.

In the end, Steve was forced to accept Bucky’s insistent offer of helping him back to his hotel room, as he was fairly certain that standing on his own was out of the question.

“You fuckin’ lightweight!” Bucky laughed as he threw an arm around Steve’s shoulders, half heaving him up the tatty tartan stairs. “You’re the size of a house, Stevie!”

“How’re you not feelin’ this?” The fact that Bucky didn’t seem at all drunk pissed Steve off more than anything. He wasn’t a lightweight, was he? His Irish-born Pa would be ashamed of raising a man who couldn’t handle his liquor. “You’re from Brooklyn” Steve realized through the foggy haze in his brain as he pinpointed the man’s accent.

“Born n’ raised, Stevie. Come on – up. You’re too big to carry like a swoonin’ dame, no matter how pretty you are.”

“M’ not drunk,” Steve insisted petulantly. “Or pretty.”

“You’re gorgeous. And y’thought the jukebox was King Tut’s mask and tried to smuggle it into your coat.”

 

“Bear traps,” Steve mumbled absentmindedly as they reached the landing where his room was.

Bucky frowned. “Bear what?”

“Bear traps. For the ghost.”

“Don’ think a bear trap’s gonna catch a ghost, punk. They’re ghosts, remember?”

Steve leaned heavily upon the scuffed wall, running a hand harshly through his hair. “He’s gon’ kill me.”

“What’s that?”

“The ghost. The museum don’ want me anymore and the university thinks I’m disposable. M’ _inept._ ” He pressed the heel of his palm into his forehead, groaning loudly. “Can’t do a desk job. Can’t. Gotta kill the ghost before… he… me.”

Bucky took his arm once more, jerking him upright from his uncomfortable slump. “C’mon-” he ordered gruffly. “Y’dumbass.”

When Steve fumbled for his key from his inside pocket and couldn’t make his fingers grasp the little piece of metal, Bucky tutted and dove into his jacket instead, shoving the key into the door and turning, pushing the door wide.

“Fuck,” Steve heard the man mutter upon opening. “There really _is_ bear traps in your room.”

“For the ghost,” Steve supplied helpfully once more. Bucky kicked one aside and shut the door, heaving the man over to the bed and depositing him down upon it. Steve raised a hand in a half-hearted wave, falling asleep almost instantly.

 

The next morning, his head pounding something terrible, Steve realized the jewel was gone from his coat and promptly hung his head in shame and frustration.

 

Naturally, the curator of the Smithsonian wasn’t pleased with his blunder, nor was the Dean of the university. Steve felt like one of his students when the man yelled and berated him for being so very gullible. He stood there for almost an hour, allowing the man to rage about how he was making the university a laughing stock in the academic world.

“He was there, this ‘Winter Soldier’, _right there_ , and you allowed him to get you paralytic drunk without a thought! _How_ , Rogers. _How!?_ _Do you know how much we put into this one last venture into Peru, to let you go gallivanting around?!_ ”  

“In my own defence, Sir-”

“Go and pack your things, Rogers. We can’t afford to associate with you no longer I’m afraid. Academically and financially. Your failures outweigh your successes now.”

 

It was with his heart heavy and blood pumping with fury that Steve returned to his office, slamming the door shut so hard the glass rattled in its frame.

Everything was over. Done. He was finished. All because of a handsome face and a devilish smile.

“Fuck-!” he swore, stalking over to his desk and throwing himself into his worn leather chair, head in his hands. Gone. What could he do now?

A knock sounded upon the door, followed by a timid “Professor Rogers? You have a package.”

“Put it on the desk” Steve grunted, not bothering to look up, head too full and in turmoil to truly register the words. She did so and swiftly left.

After half an hour of wallowing in self pity, Steve remembered the package and sighed wearily, drawing the small and insignificant box towards him with a miserable expression. It was wrapped in brown paper, completely unremarkable. He opened it and tossed the wrappings over his shoulder, sliding open the little cardboard flap.

Steve stared; nestled within a layer of bubble wrap was the…

The jewel?

A folded letter fell out. He snatched it up immediately.

_You dropped this last night._

That was struck out with two harsh lines.

_…okay, you didn’t. Call it my apology for two years of thievery. I like you, Steve. You’re a good guy, not the thug I was warned about._

_If you ever want to go rogue and plunder some tombs away from the stuffiness of an old university, look me up. I’m always game for a partner in crime. Just leave the bear traps at home – I’ve already lost an arm in this game._

_Bucky_

_Three months later_

Egypt was boiling hot when Steve’s plane touched down and he made his way towards the hotel, the address written upon a crumpled piece of paper in his pocket.

Bucky waited outside under the faded canopy, lounging back in a seat with his feet up upon a table and shades sat before his eyes. He grinned at Steve’s approach, sliding the shades up to get a better look at him. “Ready, partner?”

Steve tipped his hat back with a matching grin. “Until the end of the line.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure whether this should be just a oneshot or something more? Would you all be interested in reading more?


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